


Take Me Out After the Ballgame

by agentwashingtin



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M, baseball AU, or something like that, they're semi-professional
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 21:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1956129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentwashingtin/pseuds/agentwashingtin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rivalry between Blood Gulch and the Freelancers was well known in the baseball community. After two of the Freelancers’ star players, Washington and Texas, transferred to Blood Gulch, it sparked an unspoken, but very real, battle for dominance in the baseball circuit. Of course, the Freelancers continued to be the best in the league, but Blood Gulch held their own despite some… issues.</p><p>Grif’s just surprised that no one’s died yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Take Me Out After the Ballgame

Grif crouched behind home plate, keeping a steady eye on Tucker's arm as the pitcher prepared to throw. Grit stuck to the sweat on his face, trapped between skin and the soft padding of his face mask. His thighs burned from crouching so long and he wanted nothing more than to stretch his legs, but he forced himself to stay focused. If there was one thing he took seriously in his life, it was his position on Blood Gulch's baseball team. In fact, it might be the only thing he actually cared about.

 _Well_ , Grif thought, stealing a glance at the team's shortstop,  _maybe not the only thing_.

His attention was brought back to the game when Tucker spit into the dirt at his feet and wiped dust off the pitcher's plate with his cleat. They locked eyes and Grif punched his left hand into his mitt. Tucker nodded once and brought his hands together. Grif steadied himself as Tucker wound back and let the ball loose. The ball rocketed into the webbing of Grif's mitt, sending a cloud of dust puffing out into the air. Grif was on his feet in an instant, pulling back his arm and hurling the ball behind Tucker to the second baseman. Church snagged the ball out of the air and spun around towards left field, finding Lopez and throwing the ball his way.

The ball was gone from Lopez a split second after the man caught it. Donut crouched down, letting the ball roll into his glove and then sending it flying towards Tex at first base. She caught it effortlessly and smoothly tossed it over Tucker to Wash, who threw it to Caboose out in right field. Caboose, though he could throw hard enough, wasn't very practiced on aiming, and the ball almost caught Simmons right in the face as Caboose threw it back towards the shortstop. Simmons picked the ball out of the air and then tossed it underhand back to Tucker.

Grif jumped at the shrill burst of a whistle right behind him. He almost toppled over, but caught himself with his mitt in the dirt. He hooked his free hand under his mask and pulled it over his head, letting it fall to the ground.

"Fucking _ow_ ," he hissed, rubbing his ears.

The rest of the team hustled over, kicking up dirt with their cleats as they huddled around home plate. Grif stood, knees popping as he shook them out. He pulled off his glove and wiped his sweaty hand on his shirt while tucking his glove under one arm.

Sarge still had the whistle pursed between his lips when the team finally settled down. The whistle dropped back to his chest and Sarge opened his mouth to address them.

"I think it's time we call it quits for today, men," Sarge said. "And ladies," he added with a nod to Tex and Sister.

Grif sighed in relief, thanking the heavens that they didn't have to run sprints like they normally did at the end of practice.

"The last game of the season is tomorrow. The Freelancers are number one in the league, which I'm sure yer all aware of," he said. Out of the corner of his eye, Grif saw Tex and Wash exchange a look. "Drink water, get some rest, make yer families proud, you know the drill."

"I didn't know there was a drill," Caboose said quietly. "Is it a fire drill? I don't like those. The bell is loud."

"It's an expression, shut up," Church groaned.

Sarge cleared his throat. "Now scram. There's a t-ball team that has this field reserved in ten minutes," he announced, grabbing his bag and exiting the field.

The team made their way back to the dugout and started packing up. The chain link fence that made up the walls of the structure rattled as the players started unhooking their bags and zipping their gloves and bats inside.

Grif took the longest to pack up. Though he loved being catcher- it required the least amount of running on the field- he absolutely hated all the padding. He smiled in satisfaction every time one of the pieces hit the ground with a sharp smack as he unlatched them from his body. The only thing he hated more than the pads was the dirt that stuck to every inch of his skin and took multiple showers to get rid of.

"Hey, Grif!"

Grif looked up from gathering his pads to see his sister standing on the bench to peer over the heads of their teammates. She waved her arms to get Grif's attention.

"What?" he called back.

"Can I get a ride home?" she asked.

Grif scowled at his sister and stood up, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "You really need to get your own car."

Kai tightrope-walked her way down the bench, jumping over Tucker's lap and landing in front of Grif. "Come on, I've got a date tonight!" she said, cocking her hip.

Grif raised an eyebrow. "A date. Really."

"Does it count as a date if he comes over and we make out on the couch for a couple hours?"

Grif groaned. "All right, all right. I'm coming."

He wormed his way farther into the dugout and called, "Simmons! You need a ride?"

"We live in the same apartment dumbass!" Simmons yelled back, stumbling over a forgotten bat and past Tucker, who snickered and moved out of the way.

"Shut up, dude, and come on. Kai has a date," Grif said, swinging the keys to his truck around his finger.

"A date. Really."

"It counts!" Kai insisted, skipping after the pair as they made their way to Grif's truck.

Grif and Simmons locked eyes and Grif snorted.

The gravel crunched under their feet, a familiar sound that Grif associated with Donut shouting "Great practice everyone!" and Church kicking up dust as he sped out of the parking lot with Tex.

Grif hoisted himself up into his truck, Simmons scrambling in shotgun and Sister climbing over Simmons' lap to sit in between them. Simmons blushed every time she did it, and Grif found it insanely adorable each time.

"You guys looked  _awesome_  out there today. So in sync and everything. And Tucker's butt looked cute in his-"

"You ever gonna play with us, Kaikaina?" Simmons interrupted her, cringing at her statement.

Kai scoffed. "What do you think I'm doing?"

"I meant are you ever going to actually play with us in a game?"

"Well," she started, "I'm just there if one of you guys gets hurt or something, right?"

Grif shrugged, flipping on his turn signal as he brought his truck into the neighborhood. "Sure. Doesn't mean you can't tag out with someone and practice with us."

"But the season's almost over."

Simmons held up his hands. "It was just a suggestion."

Kai scoffed. "Yeah, a stupid one. But that's okay. I have to forgive my brother's boyfriend, right?"

Simmons choked and spluttered, "I- I'm not-"

"We're here, Kai," Grif said, pulling into the driveway of his old house.

"Oh, okay!" She beamed and leaned over, placing a small kiss on Grif's cheek. "Bye, Dex! Bye, Simmons!"

* * *

Grif woke up with Simmons pressed up against his side, their legs tangled together and Simmons' head tucked into his neck. Grif smiled and inhaled deeply, smelling the fresh scent of the shampoo Simmons' had used the night before. He slid his hand down Simmons' side and under his t-shirt, splaying his fingers over Simmons' back. Despite being the lazier of the two, Grif always managed to wake up before Simmons, and one of his favorite parts of the morning was watching Simmons sleep, and falling asleep again right as Simmons began to wake up.

Grif rubbed Simmons' back lightly, closing his eyes and humming quietly. He did like mornings, as long as he woke up on his own terms, and not because of an alarm clock or Simmons yelling at him to get ready.

They'd only just started sharing a bed after living together for almost a year, and "dating" for nearly eight months. Grif was still getting used to falling asleep with Simmons curled into his side or against his chest, and waking up with Simmons' head tucked under his chin. He hadn't told Simmons how much he liked it; he hoped it was implied.

"Grif?" Simmons murmured throatily, shifting against Grif's side.

Grif hummed in response, not opening his eyes.

"Are you awake?" Simmons whispered.

"Nah."

Grif could almost see Simmons roll his eyes. "Are you going to get up anytime soon, or should I use the shower first?"

"Why're you showerin' again?" Grif mumbled.

"Because I shower in the mornings," Simmons answered, sounding more awake now. Grif sneaked a peek and saw Simmons slide away from him and sit on the edge of the bed, stretching his arms. Grif watched a stretch of pale skin appear over Simmons' maroon boxers before Simmons lowered his arms and stood up, padding lightly out of the room.

Grif closed his eyes again and buried his head into his pillow, breathing in Simmons' scent.

He wasn't even aware that he had fallen asleep again when he felt Simmons' hand on his shoulder. "Hey, fatass, get out of bed. We've got lunch in a couple hours with the team."

"What?" Grif muttered.

Simmons groaned. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to Grif's lips, letting them linger until Grif responded, reaching up to grab Simmons' shoulder.

Simmons pulled away before the kiss got too deep. Grif whined and chased Simmons' lips, but had to steady himself when he started falling off the bed. Simmons snorted out a laugh and propped one arm on his hip. "Get up. I'll fix breakfast while you get ready."

"Do we have bacon?" Grif called after him.

"Not unless you get dressed," Simmons replied, shutting the bedroom door behind him.

Grif reluctantly rolled out of bed with a yawn. He shuffled over to the dresser and grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He slipped them on and then rolled on deodorant as an afterthought, if only for Simmons' benefit.

He made his way out to the kitchen. The TV was already on when he plopped down on the couch. Simmons liked to have a little background noise on when he was home, and so kept the television or radio on quietly as he worked in the apartment. Grif just liked it because it meant that he usually didn't have to spend effort trying to find the remote in the mornings.

"Bacon is ready if you are," Simmons called to him a few minutes later.

Grif found Simmons running a spatula through the eggs on the stove, tilting the skillet as he went. Grif stood next to him, grabbing a piece of bacon off the plate and chewing it as he watched Simmons work.

"You ready for the game tonight?" Simmons asked after a beat of silence.

Grif shrugged. "Sure. It's just like any of the other ones."

"Last game of the season, though. And it's against the Freelancers," Simmons said.

Grif leaned against the counter. "What, are you worried that Maine guy is going to rip somebody's arm off?"

Simmons scoffed. "No, of course not. But you know how seriously everyone is going to take it. Especially Tex and her old teammate. You know, Carolina. Things can get ugly between them."

"Things are always ugly between Tex and Wash and the Freelancers. It's a wonder they still manage to be friends with them at all," Grif replied. "Especially Tex. They all seem to have it out for her."

Simmons shrugged. He picked up the skillet and scraped the eggs onto a plate. "Well, you know how Tex is. Is that really surprising?"

"Not really," Grif said with a shudder. He'd seen Tex tear Church a new one more times than he could count. "I just don't know what Wash's deal with them is."

"Apparently something happened when he was with the Freelancers that fucked him up pretty bad. He's only ever talked to Tucker about it, but Tucker won't say what it is," Simmons said.

"Huh," Grif responded, grabbing a plate and scooping some eggs onto it.

Simmons fixed himself a plate and the two of them stood there, chewing quietly as they thought.

"What do you think the odds are that someone is going to get hurt tonight?" Simmons asked after a moment.

"I don't think there are any odds," Grif said, "because there's no chance someone  _won't_  get hurt. Someone is definitely getting wrecked tonight. I can guarantee it."

* * *

A few hours later Grif and Simmons were on their way to lunch with Kai sitting in between them yet again.

"You know, one day I'm not going to answer you, and you're going to have to walk your ass wherever you need to go," Grif grumbled.

Kai just smiled. "Oh come on, Dex. I know you'll always come get me."

Grif sighed. She was right, but he still hated having to drive her everywhere.

Grif pulled into the parking lot behind Tucker and the trio piled out of Grif's truck. They met Tucker at the sidewalk and he nodded to Grif and Simmons before turning to Kai and grinning.

"Sup, Kai?" he asked.

Kai giggled. "Hey, Tucker."

Grif groaned. "Ugh, please don't start this again."

"What, you don't want to hear me talk about banging your sister?" Tucker asked, a sly grin on his face.

Grif rubbed his eyes. "Shut the fuck up, man. Not today."

Tucker shrugged. "Whatever, dude. Just know that-"

"You probably shouldn't finish that sentence," someone said from behind them.

Grif glanced back and saw Washington approaching them, stuffing his keys into his pocket. He looked just as exhausted as normal, his light hair mussed and dark shadows under his eyes.

"Oh, hey Wash," Tucker greeted.

"Good morning, Tucker," Wash responded. He looked between the four of them. "Are we going into the building or...?"

Tucker jumped. "Oh, right."

He pushed open the door and they walked in, spotting the table housing their teammates instantly. They each took their respective seats and settled in, opening the menus but already knowing what they wanted.

It had become tradition a few years ago to go out to lunch before the last game of the season. It gave them a chance to shake off nerves, or get in the mood for playing. No one really remembered why they started doing it, but they had kept it up since.

The waitress, a kind woman named Sheila, bustled over with an apron slung low around her waist and a pencil stuck through the back of her dark bun.

"The usual?" she asked, looking around the table.

Everyone nodded and Sheila made a mark on her pad, turning to leave.

"Are you going to come to the game tonight, Sheila?" Caboose asked, a star struck look on his face.

Sheila pursed her lips and tilted her head. "I think I'll be off work by the time it starts." She turned and found Lopez sitting near Sarge. A blush worked its way onto her cheeks as she asked, "Are you going to be playing tonight, Lopez?"

"Sí," Lopez answered. He smiled at Sheila and she giggled.

Caboose frowned and twisted his straw wrapper in between his fingers. Grif almost felt bad for the guy.

The team chatted among themselves until their food arrived. Sarge was showing off his new shirt, an exact replica of the baseball tee with red sleeves he always wore, to Lopez. Lopez was watching Sheila, however, and wasn't paying any attention to him. Tex and Church were arguing again; this time it seemed to be about their apartment. Tucker and Wash conversed quietly next to Caboose, who was still sulking.

Simmons and Grif were arguing with Donut about the team's uniforms when the bell above the diner's door dinged, causing them to look up. Four people entered, looking around the diner until they spotted the team sitting near the back.

"Oh shit," Simmons murmured. He was facing the door when the group walked in, and could see who they were.

"What?" Grif questioned, twisting around in his chair. "Oh. Shit."

Four Freelancers stood at the door. Grif recognized York and North from the times they'd hung out with Wash. A smaller woman who must have been North's twin, South, stood a little behind him. The last one of the group was a woman with fiery red hair and a sharp look on her face. Grif only knew her name, Carolina, from all the times he'd heard Tex talk about her. They all stood together, waiting to be seated. All of them had their eyes trained on the Blood Gulch players.

Andy, another waiter whom Grif could barely stand half the time, sat the Freelancers in a booth near Grif and his teammates. Andy smirked at them and walked away, leaving the room in a frigid silence.

Slowly, conversation started back up, but Grif was well aware of the Freelancers at his back.

Their food arrived not long after that, and the team was distracted by the best burgers and fries in the state. Grif tore into his, but he could see Simmons picking at his salad in agitation and watching over Grif's shoulder.

"What's wrong?" Grif asked.

Simmons shrugged. "I don't like this," he murmured, nodding behind Grif.

Grif resisted the urge to look back. "What, the Freelancers? They won't bother us."

Simmons twisted his fork in his hand, stabbing at a lettuce leaf. "I don't know, Grif. I'm sure they're aware that we come here before games. Why would they come here too?"

"Maybe they like the food, Simmons. You ever think of that?"

Simmons huffed. "All right, fine. Whatever."

Grif frowned. He nudged Simmons' foot under the table. "Are you really that worried?"

Simmons shrugged again. "Never mind. It's nothing."

Grif scanned Simmons' face and then went back to his food.

The team finished up not long after that and were getting ready to pay when the Freelancers stood up, already done with their meal. The table went quiet again as they passed, and then one of them, North, stopped.

"Good luck tonight," he wished them, nodding to the team. He smiled at Wash and Wash returned the gesture hesitantly.

York clapped North on the shoulder. "What he said."

Carolina and South remained quiet. Carolina stared at Tex, her brows drawn together into an expression that almost resembled a glare. Tex met her gaze unflinchingly. Grif saw Church put a hand on her arm.

After a beat of silence, Grif said, "You too."

North looked relieved at the statement. He turned his easy smile on Grif and then South grabbed his arm.

"C'mon, North," she said, tugging him away. She glared at the table. "You'd better watch your backs."

The Freelancers exited the building and the table let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Yep. We're definitely going to die tonight," Tucker muttered.

* * *

Grif sat at the end of the bench in the dugout, strapping on his leg guards. The straps were frayed at the ends and the plastic was scratched, but he couldn't bring himself to replace them. He'd been using them for far too long.

Straightening up, he grabbed the chest pads and began hooking them at his sides, tightening them as he stood.

He could hear the crowd above him getting louder as the game drew nearer. He was used to the field, it being their home stadium, but it wasn't very often that it was full to bursting.

Grif hooked his fingers in the face mask of his helmet and climbed the steps out of the dugout, making his way over to the field. The infielders were tossing the ball back and forth, warming up their arms. Grif watched Simmons for a moment. The shortstop crouched down as Tex threw him a grounder. He scooped it up in his glove and skipped to the side, throwing it back to Church. For someone who could barely hold a conversation with a girl, Simmons sure was fearless on the field. Grif smiled at the thought and started walking again towards the back of the stadium.

Lopez, Donut and Caboose were practicing catching pop flies in the outfield. Donut would hurl the ball in the air and either Lopez or Caboose would catch it and toss it back. Most of the time Lopez caught it, but if by chance Caboose did, Donut would let out a whoop of joy and shout words of encouragement.

Grif passed by them and entered the bullpen. Tucker was leaning against the fence, tossing a ball up in the air and catching it every so often.

"Finally. I thought you'd never get your fat ass over here," Tucker said, pulling himself away from the fence.

Grif rolled his eyes. "Save the name calling for the players in the other dugout. Do you want to warm up or not?"

"What do you think I'm doing here? Jerking off?" Tucker quipped, taking his place by the pitcher's plate.

"I wouldn't be surprised," Grif replied, pulling his mask on and crouching opposite Tucker.

Tucker snorted. "Just get ready."

Grif opened and closed his mitt, putting his left hand behind his back for balance. "Whenever you want to get started."

Tucker responded by hurling the ball at Grif's open mitt. Grif hissed at the contact and threw the ball back to Tucker, shaking out his hand. It sailed easily back to the pitcher as Grif repositioned himself and waited for Tucker.

One of the things Grif prided himself on was being a left-handed catcher. It wasn't the easiest thing to do, what with most hitters being right-handed and therefore standing in the way of his throwing arm, but he managed it. It came in pretty handy, as it caused him to be proficient with right-handed hitters, and even better with left-handed ones.

The ball smacked into his mitt again and again as Tucker warmed up. A couple pitches in Tucker stopped to loosen his arm out. Grif took the chance to stretch his legs. There wasn't much longer until the game started. He could see his team vacating the field to allow the Freelancers to warm up and nodded to Tucker.

"Few more and then we'll head back," Tucker said.

Grif nodded and positioned himself. Tucker pitched a couple of times and then pronounced himself officially warmed up.

They made their way back to Blood Gulch's dugout. The team was bustling around, organizing bags and checking the batting order as they passed.

"You're fifth," Simmons told Grif as Grif approached him.

Grif nodded. "Same place. Awesome." He sat down on the bench to retie is cleat. "What about you?"

Simmons huffed. "Knocked down to seventh. Donut passed me."

Grif barked out a laugh. "Aw, man. I'm sorry, dude."

Simmons shrugged. "I'm cool with it."

"What about me?" Tucker asked, coming to stand by them.

"You're fourth," Simmons answered.

Tucker gaped. "What?! Who's-"

"Lopez is third," Wash answered, walking over and flexing his glove.

Tucker groaned. "This is bullshit."

"Hey," Grif interrupted, standing and peering over at the Freelancers' dugout. "The Director's here."

Simmons joined him, glove under one arm. "What is it about our coaches not going by their names?"

"Don't ask me," Wash said, pointedly not looking at the other dugout.

The Director stood with his back to Grif, addressing the line of grey jerseys sitting in front of him.

"Does anyone else get the feeling that they're taking this a lot more seriously than we are?" Tucker asked.

Wash sighed, quietly fixing the grip on his bat with black tape. "I know they are. Without a doubt."

Sarge cleared his throat from the other side of the dugout, causing the four of them to look up. "Come on, men. The time for out inevitable victory has arrived."

The team gathered around Sarge, each holding their gloves and watching him expectantly.

He crossed his arms behind his back. "It's the last game of the season, and you know what that means. It means that this is the game we'll be remembered for. It means that everything we've done all of this season has led up to this very moment. And you know what?" He looked at each of them individually. "I think we've got just as much a shot as they do at winning."

"That's debatable," Grif murmured behind his mask.

"Can it, Grif," Sarge growled, glaring at him. "They may have more training than us, and players that look big enough to rip us to pieces, and superior equipment-"

"Uh, sir?" Simmons piped up.

Sarge stopped. "Right. Well. I've got faith in you, so go out there and do your best to beat those dirty Freelancers."

"That was... strangely inspiring," Church muttered.

"Vic also owes me a case of Chew if you win, so don't throw this away."

"There we go," Grif said.

"Go team!" Caboose said enthusiastically as they took the field.

Grif moved to his spot at home plate and waited as the umpires arrived. The rest of the team got in position, standing tense and ready. Tex pulled her long hair into a pony tail and stuck it through the back of her hat, pushing her bangs out of her face. Tucker tugged on his hat as well, punching his hand into his glove in agitation. Grif locked eyes with Simmons and smiled at him before pulling his mask back over his face and crouching behind the base.

The crowd cheered as Carolina stepped out of the dugout, bat held loosely in her grip and pony tail hanging low out from her helmet. She stopped at Grif's left and adjusted her stance. Even from the plate, Grif could see as Tucker winked at Carolina. Grif heard the grip on Carolina's bat squeak against her gloves as she tightened her fists.

 _This is starting off well_ , Grif thought with a sigh.

Tucker rolled his shoulders and then got into position, rearing back and hurling the ball towards the plate. Carolina barely twitched as Grif shifted to catch the ball that had veered off just a little too far.

Grif threw the ball back to Tucker, who was now frowning in concentration. He pitched again and this time Carolina swung. The ball rocketed towards left field as Carolina dropped the bat and sprinted away.

Grif stood and watched as the ball sailed towards Lopez. Carolina had almost reached first plate by the time the ball smacked against the back wall, bouncing off and rolling back towards Lopez. He lurched forward and scooped it off the ground, hurling it back towards Church.

Church caught it just as Carolina touched down on second base. Grif could hear shouts and applause from behind him as the umpire declared her safe.

The ball made its way back to Tucker and York stepped onto the field. He batted a double as well, sending Carolina to home plate and earning the Freelancers a point. Donut caught Wyoming's ball, and North hit a grounder straight at Simmons, who threw it to Tex right before North made it to first.

Both Maine and South scored. A woman who went by Pilot, though most people called her Four Seven, was on first when Tucker struck out CT, ending the top of the inning.

Grif was already stripping out of his pads by the time he got to the dugout. The others were mostly quiet as they switched their gloves for their favored bats.

Tex pulled on her helmet and made her way onto the batter's box. Wash grabbed his batting gloves and followed her to the on-deck circle without saying a word.

"They're already up by four," Simmons said, coming up beside Grif.

Grif shrugged, unclasping his leg guards. "Could be worse."

Simmons went quiet, chewing on his lip as the two of them walked over to the fence at the front of the dugout, leaning against it to watch Tex bat.

York pitched a perfect ball straight into the sweet spot of the strike zone. Tex cleared it straight out into left field, leaving it to smack into the back wall much like Carolina's had. CT retrieved it, but by the time the ball made it back to York, Tex was standing safely on third. Grif could see Carolina's back straighten as the woman punched a fist into her glove. Tex didn't look at her, but Grif swore that she was smiling.

Wash made it onto first and Lopez moved them both up a base. Tucker stepped onto the field and Grif followed, only hesitating to let Simmons grab his arm and whisper, "Good luck."

Tucker sent Wash and Lopez home, but was tagged by Wyoming near second.

Grif passed the two of them on his way to home plate. Wash nodded at him and Grif responded with a quick nod of his own, holding his bat loosely in his left hand.

He stepped into the batter's box, sucking in a deep breath and waiting for York to pitch.

York threw the ball and it sailed past Grif, straight into the meat of Maine's mitt. The umpire called it a strike and Grif tensed, grumbling a swear under his breath. York pitched again and this time Grif let it pass, sighing in relief when the umpire declared it a ball.

Grif zeroed in on York's hand, watching as he pulled it back and then let the ball fly. His eyes tracked the ball through the air, and he swung. The ball made contact with a satisfying  _smack_  and then Grif was running.

He made it to first and stopped. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the first base coach telling him to keep going, but he stayed put and was rewarded when he saw the ball fly into Wyoming's glove, long before Grif would have made it to the base.

Donut struck out and then Simmons was up to bat. He hit the ball on the second pitch and Grif started towards second. The ball was a grounder and it was going straight towards South, who was already in a position to throw to Wyoming.

"Damn it," Grif hissed, throwing himself to the ground and sliding into second base right as South released the ball. Wyoming bent to tag Grif, but he was already safe on the base.

Grif got to his feet, wiping dust off his jersey. The dirt wasn't very noticeable against the red of his shirt, but it shown in sharp contrast to the white of his pants. Ah, well. He'd just get Simmons to wash them.

Church struck out next and Grif hustled off the field, scrambling into his gear.

"You wasted my slide," Grif said to Church when the second baseman passed by.

Church rolled his eyes. "You want me to give you a fucking pat on the back for it?"

"I'd appreciate it," Grif responded. "I'm going to have to use stain removal on these pants now."

"You mean,  _I'm_  going to," Simmons piped up. "You'd better repay me for it, too."

"Yeah, yeah. You do the washing, I'll fix dinner or something," Grif said.

"You burned the food last time you cooked," Simmons shot back.

Grif shrugged. "Lots of people burn food."

"You were boiling water for spaghetti!" Simmons snapped.

"Man, Tucker was right. You two really are like an old married couple," Church groaned.

Sarge looked over at them and called, "Quit yer yapping and get out on the field!"

Grif rolled his eyes and grabbed his mask, wiping out dirt with his fingers.

Three innings later and the score was eight to six, with the Freelancers leading. Both teams had stepped up their game, and the innings were passing with progressing intensity, with neither team allowing the other many chances to score.

It was the top of the fifth when things started going downhill.

Carolina was up to bat, and Tucker threw the ball perfectly for her. The ball went straight out into center field and Donut took off after it, following it to the back wall. It looked like it was going to be a home run until it started losing speed and dropping down towards the back wall. Donut took a running leap and caught the ball neatly in his glove right before it hit the ground. As he landed, he twisted and hit the ground on his shoulder, rolling to a stop a few feet from where he started.

Donut stood shakily, clutching his left shoulder tightly. The on-field umpire ran towards him, Lopez and Caboose meeting him near Donut.

They spoke for a moment and then the umpire was back. Donut threw the ball to Church as the umpire relayed Donut's assurances that he was okay to keep playing.

The Freelancers scored again and then Blood Gulch scored twice, making the score nine to eight.

At the top of the sixth, Maine stood stiffly in the batter's box. Grif could hear him growling lightly under his breath and shivered.

Tucker pitched and Maine hit the ball with such force that the bat cracked down the middle, sending half of it hurtling towards Grif's chest.

Grif fell backwards, the bat catching him in the shoulder. He wheezed as the breath was knocked out of him and his balance was upset, sending him to the ground. The umpire pressed a hand to his back, catching him before his back hit the dirt.

"You all right, son?" the umpire asked.

Grif nodded. "'M, fine."

Grif thought he'd caught the worst of it until he looked up and saw Tucker running towards third base, where Wash was curled in on himself, groaning in pain.

Simmons was hurrying over as well, along with the field medic, Frank "Doc" DuFresne, and the umpire.

Grif stumbled to his feet, trying to see over the group curled around Wash. The crowd had gone quiet behind him as they watched on anxiously.

Grif could see the Freelancers in their dugout pressed up against the fence, and he was reminded of their history with Wash. Maine stood next to Grif, still as a statue, hand still loosely holding onto the other half of his bat. His eyes were trained on Wash, and though he was just as silent as everyone else, Grif could see the stricken look on his face.

Grif pulled off his helmet and walked forward to the pitcher's mound where Tex and Church were standing.

"What happened?" he asked quietly.

"The ball hit him right in the chest," Tex answered. "He went down hard."

Grif bit his lip. "How bad was it?"

"I don't know about you," Church said, nodding at Tex, "but I heard when it hit him. It sure sounded painful as hell."

Doc moved to the side and Grif could finally get a good look at Wash. They had him upright now, but he was sitting with his head between his knees, drawing in shaky breaths, face pale. Tucker was kneeling next to him, speaking in low tones, one hand resting on Wash's shoulder.

Finally, Wash seemed to catch his breath and he sat up, allowing Doc to take a look at his chest.

Doc unbuttoned the top of Wash's jersey, pulling the shirt away and peering at the skin. Grif heard Church whistle next to him as Wash's chest was revealed. The pale skin was already starting to bruise an ugly purple color, fading out around the sides in blotches of an angry red. Doc prodded at the wound, drawing short hisses from Wash, who pulled back against the sting.

After a few moments, Tucker helped Wash to his feet. Grif could hear them talking now that they weren't whispering.

"I'm okay, really," Wash insisted.

"Dude, you're done. I don't know how you can throw with your chest looking like you caught a bowling ball with it," Tucker replied.

"Seriously. I'm fine. I can last a couple more innings," Wash answered. He stared down Tucker, and Tucker stared right back, unrelenting.

Eventually, Tucker turned to Doc. "Can't you keep him from playing?"

"I can't really do anything if he says he's fine," Doc said with a shrug. "I'm not going to stop him if he wants to keep going."

Tucker sighed and rubbed his eyes. "You're sure you're okay?"

"Not really," Wash said, "but I'll live."

"All right." Tucker pulled his glove back on and started towards the pitcher's mound. "Let's get this shit going again."

The umpire ruled Maine's hit as a foul ball. Grif could hear furious shouts from the stands, calling for something to be done, but Grif knew the umpire wouldn't do anything. The injury was an accident- nothing more.

Doc hurried over quickly to check on Grif. "You were hit by the bat, right?"

Grif brushed him off. "It was nothing. I was wearing pads."

"But you're bleeding," Doc said. "Hold on, I'll patch you up."

"I'm what?" Grif asked, blinking.

"Your neck, you've got a little cut. A splinter must have caught you. Nothing I can't fix up in a jiffy," Doc said cheerily, digging in his kit for a bandage. He produced one and started squirting medicine onto it when Grif reached out and took it.

"I can take it from here, thanks Doc," he said quickly. He'd seen Doc patch up people before, and knew how it could turn out. He wasn't really keen on losing the feeling in his toes because of a small cut.

Doc shrugged and scurried off the field. The umpire called Play Ball as Grif pulled his mask back on and crouched down once again.

The teams were tied up by the last inning, after Simmons had tripped onto home plate, earning them another point. Blood Gulch was batting with two outs already (Church had bunted straight towards Carolina, and Caboose sent a pop fly at Florida) and Tex was up next.

Grif stood on second with Donut on first. His fingers twitched and he resisted the urge to crack them, watching Tex position herself in the batter's box.

The entire stadium seemed to hold its breath as York brought his glove into his chest, sizing up his pitch. York exhaled and let the ball fly. Tex threw her entire body weight behind her swing and she hit the ball head on, sending it rocketing towards outfield. Grif started running immediately, not even stopping to watch Four Seven chase down the ball.

Grif rounded third while Four Seven grabbed the ball and threw it to South. Without thinking this time, Grif sprinted a few more feet and dove towards home plate, hurtling towards Maine as the catcher reached out for the ball.

Grif felt Maine's glove tag him hard on the side right before he hit the ground. His chest scraped painfully against the dirt, sending up a cloud of dust as he slid over home plate.

Blinking against the grit in his eyes, Grif propped himself up on his forearms and looked up to see the umpire's ruling. The umpire paused for a second, and then fiercely threw his thumb over his shoulder, signaling that Grif was out.

Grif's head dropped to the ground and he groaned as part of the stadium erupted in cheers. The Freelancers were all calling to each other, laughing a little and clapping each other on the back.

Grif felt a tap on his shoulder and looked up to see Maine holding out a hand. Hesitantly, Grif took it and Maine hauled him to his feet, almost pulling Grif's arm out of his socket.

"Good game," Maine growled behind his mask.

Grif inclined his head. "Right. You too, man."

Maine nodded once and then made his way towards his celebrating team. Grif walked in the opposite direction towards his dugout where his team stood in lesser spirits.

"You tried, dude," Tucker said, knocking Grif's shoulder with his own.

Grif shrugged. "Yeah, whatever. There's always next season."

"Dirtbags, the lot of them," Sarge muttered under his breath, glaring at the Freelancers.

"It was a fair game, Sarge," Donut reminded him. "We all hit the same balls, remember."

Sarge grumbled something else, but the crease between his eyebrows did relax.

The two teams lined up and shook hands. Grif was grateful that things seemed to be friendly enough. At least no fights had broken out this time.

They were about to head back to their dugout when they heard someone call out.

"Hey!"

Grif turned around and saw York striding towards them with North and CT at his heels. The three looked at the team, and then York locked on to Grif, seemingly remembering Grif acknowledging them at lunch.

"There's this bar a couple streets down that we go to for drinks after games. Care to join us?" York offered.

Grif blinked and then looked back at his team. A few of them shrugged, and so Grif turned back around and said, "Sure, why not?"

York beamed at him. "Great! We'll see you there."

* * *

Grif and Simmons met Kai at his truck. She was bouncing up and down happily, eager to get to the bar.

"Try and stay out of trouble, okay?" Grif asked of her, turning down the street York said the bar was on.

"Well, sure. But have you  _seen_  those Freelancers?" she gushed. "They're all pretty hot, especially that blonde twin."

"Who, North?" Simmons asked curiously.

"Well, yeah he's cute too, but I was talking about his sister," Kai answered.

Grif met Simmons' gaze over his sister's head and rolled his eyes. "Whatever, Kai. Just behave tonight."

They met the others at the bar and Grif immediately ordered drinks for himself and Simmons. He knew Simmons wouldn't want alcohol, so he got him a water and made his way back over towards his team.

Not long after Grif sat down, both the Freelancers and Blood Gulch started to show up and slowly they relaxed around one another. It started with North and York approaching Wash and Tucker and pulling them into a conversation. Eventually the two teams began to mingle and tensions lowered until they were all acting like old friends.

A few hours in, Simmons was at the bar with Grif, wearing Grif's hat and sipping on his water. Tucker and Wash sat next to them, talking with Kai who was showing them how she could tie a cherry stem with her mouth. York and North were talking quietly in a booth, and South was nearly asleep on North's shoulder. Sarge and Lopez sat at the table next to them. Sarge was talking at Lopez, but Lopez was listening to Sheila discuss vehicles with Four Seven.

Carolina and Tex were sitting next to each other at the bar, not speaking, but sharing a bowl of peanuts. Maine tossed a ball up and down in the corner next to Florida and Wyoming, his hat pulled low over his eyes. CT and Church were playing darts and Caboose kept trying to join them, but they wouldn't let him.

Donut lounged in a booth, a bag of ice on his shoulder and sharing a brightly colored drink with Doc.

Grif hummed quietly, taking a pull from his beer and then starting to sing an off-key version of "Take Me Out to the Ballgame" to Simmons.

Simmons groaned beside him. "We were already there today, stupid. Every time you're there, I'm there."

Grif didn't listen to him and just got progressively louder until Simmons finally shoved him and he almost fell off the bar stool.

"Hey!" Grif protested, pouting.

Simmons rolled his eyes. "You're drunk."

Grif shrugged. "So? We lost the game today. I have a reason."

Simmons shook his head. "You're impossible."

"Yeah, but you love it." Grif grinned at him.

"Who knows why," Simmons answered.

Grif was quiet for a moment, until he finally said. "Kiss me."

"What?" Simmons asked, turning towards him in surprise.

"You heard me," Grif said. "Kiss me."

"But, but Grif-" Simmons protested.

Grif sighed. "Simmons, c'mon. Please?"

Simmons sighed, but finally smiled and nodded. "All right, fine."

"Wait, really?" Grif questioned, blinking in surprise.

Simmons shrugged. "It had to happen sooner or later."

Grif grinned. "Sweet. I didn't think that would work."

"Just come here," Simmons said in exasperation.

Grif leaned forward, threading his fingers through Simmons' hair and bringing their lips together. They kissed slowly, tuning out Tucker's whistle and Kai's triumphant, "I knew it!"

Grif smiled. "Now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Simmons snorted. "Are you happy now?"

Grif wrapped an arm around his waist and pulled him closer. "Very."

"You don't have to look so smug about it," Simmons said.

"I just got to kiss my cute boyfriend in front of my team. That definitely requires some smugness."

"You're an asshole."

"Whatever. It's worth it." Grif took another swig from his drink while Simmons sighed and leaned against his side.

Grif watched the two teams with a lazy smile. As Simmons pressed up against him, he decided that playing baseball was definitely one of the better decisions he'd made in his life.


End file.
